Rapidly undressing in the dark the young engineers crawled in between their blankets.
“Well, at last,” murmured Harry, “we’re engineers in earnest. That is,” he added rather wistfully, “if we last.”
“We’ve got to last,” replied Tom in a low voice, hardly above a whisper, “and we’re going to. Harry, we’ve left behind us the playtime of boyhood, and we’re beginning real life! But in that playtime we learned how to play real football. From now on we’ll apply all of the best and most strenuous rules of football to the big art of making a living and a reputation. Good night, old fellow! Dream of the folks back in Gridley. I’m going to.”
“And of the chums at West Point and Annapolis,” gaped Hazelton. “God bless them!”
That was not the only short prayer sent up, but within five minutes both youngsters had fallen sound asleep. The man who can sleep as they did, when the head touches the pillow, has many successes still ahead of him!
Nor did they worry about not waking in season in the morning. Slim Morris had promised to see to it that they were awake on time.
Slam! Bump! Tom Reade was positive he had not been asleep more than a minute when that rude interruption came. He awoke to find himself scrambling up from the ground.
Tom had his eyes open in time to see Harry Hazelton hit the ground with force. Then Slim Morris retreated to the doorway of the tent.
“Are you fellows going to sleep until pay days” Slim demanded jovially.
Tom hustled into his clothes, reached the doorway of the tent and found the sun already well up in the skies.